Time for Blueberries

Moorehead Farms is about 1 hour and 15 minutes away.  If you time it just right, they have delicious you-pick blueberries bursting from the trees.  All you have to do to get $2/lb berries is to reach up, touch the plump blue berries, and they fall into the bucket below.


http://www.moorheadsblueberryfarm.com/

I suppose I am spoiled.  Growing up in Seattle, we had fruits available all over.  I suppose blackberries were never sold at a nursery, they were very prolific (and tasty) weeds. Crisp, juicy apples the size of a softball were sold on street corners.  As a grade-schooler, we would go on walks with my dad and siblings when we were young and find blueberries in the woods.  All fruits were, and are, my favorite.  I suppose blueberries are so great to me because it reminds me of those walks with my dad.

So now I live in Texas, not the blueberry capital of the world.  Home of the $2.50 half pint of blueberries (and blackberries!).  Once in a while, I would splurge and buy some for a batch of blueberry muffins or pancakes, knowing that no one else in my house would like them, except for me and my husband.  How excited I was two years ago to learn of this precious farm.  Acres and acres of blueberries just waiting for me to pick them.

Two years ago I brought my boys with me.  They were four and seven.  We brought a friend of mine and her four kids.  We went a little too early in the season, and a little too late in the day. With sweat dripping down our backs, the picking was slim.   I think we each came away with maybe five pounds each, and within 1/2 hour we were all hot and tired.  Overall, it was fun, but it was a lot of work.

This year I was able to go again.  I was going to get up early and make it there by 7 am when it opened.  The boys were convinced it would be fun.  My husband was on a trip, so I had to take them, regardless, and was willing to take them, happy or not, because I love blueberries so much.  Happy or not did not happen, because Jerry came home early and the boys were able to sleep in.  So, by 6 am I was on the road, by myself, to pick blueberries.  I knew I could pick a bunch without the distraction of the boys.

I arrived at 7:30.  Already the parking was full.  As I and my bucket heading in the recommended direction,  I realized there were people on every row.  I picked a row that looked somewhat uninhabited and began to pick, thinking how wonderful the blueberries would taste, but missing my boys.

Sounds of happy conversations floated above the branches.  "She is just 3 months old."  "Don't eat so many blueberries or we will have to have them weigh you." "How long can you stay to visit?"  "Here, take our picture."  I was getting a lot of blueberries, but missed my boys.

I missed the happy laughter, the searching for the perfect spot of blueberries, purple mouths, taking them to the bathroom when it was most inconvenient, losing a child (almost) in the rows of bushes, sharing my thoughts and feelings with my friend.  Once again, I was reminded how quickly time passes and children grow.  I wanted to have everyone in the blueberry field freeze and realize that that particular moment will never happen again.   How grateful I have been for this realization, and for the realization that a blueberry is more than just a blueberry.  It is a medium that allows us to bond, feel, love, laugh, and share. Thank you, Dad, for Sunday afternoon walks in the woods.